


Looking at the stars

by netweight



Category: Smallville, Teen Titans (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Future, F/M, Past Relationship(s), Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-04-22
Updated: 2006-04-22
Packaged: 2017-10-22 14:38:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/239117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/netweight/pseuds/netweight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Superkid is in town and it's her town and she's gonna find out why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Looking at the stars

**Author's Note:**

> Set sometime after issue #1 of Teen Titans (v3), that is, after the revelation regarding Superboy's true parentage.

The first thing she thinks is 'great! he looks just like his daddy!' It's a slap in the face, leaving her feeling disconcerted and more than a little annoyed. She thought she left all that behind, her misplaced teenage crush. ('Love', a traitorous part of her brain whispers. She ignores it.) She has moved on, grown up, made her peace - she got a friend out of the whole deal. Even if she never sees him anymore. That was part of the deal too. "Because you could get killed, Chloe! I... I couldn't bear to lose you too." _Too_ , of course, because she always came seconds and so it was easy to dispatch her to the other side of the country, not that she's bitter, why do you ask?

So yeah, annoyed. She huffs and picks up her drink, hey, drown your sorrows, why not? She doesn't need to get her courage from the bottle before she turns and walks toward him, moving past the dancing bodies. It's her job, no ulterior motives here, nothing to see. Superkid is in town and it's her town and she's gonna find out why. She'll just skitter up there and… something. It's not like he knows who she is. Secret identity friend from the past and if that isn't the height of ironies, she doesn't know what is.

Oh yeah, she's in a bitch mood tonight.

He keeps appearing and disappearing from her line of sight but that suits her as it gives her the opportunity to watch him, undetected. How very Dick Tracy, she thinks scathingly to disguise the flutter in her stomach because god, he's a blast from the past, isn't he? And she feels stupidly young, like she's sixteen again and her smile is faked and forced because of the way nervousness twists at her chest, heart and lungs constricted into a knot when she looks up at _him_.

Stupid. She's not sixteen anymore and this is _not_ him.

Up close, there are differences. For one? The boy is drunk. Because that's the only way to explain him moving like that. There is no way anyone sharing Clark's DNA would just dance like… like that. Like he doesn't care and doesn't give a fuck, all fluidity and cockishness and defiance and look, she's pulling out the big words now, isn't that just _precious_?

She loses her train of thought when he looks at her.

Looks. at. her.

Slanted cat eyes and yeah, that's different alright.

She feels off balance, something's not right here, is what she thinks and then 'must not drink and drive' followed by 'wow, you’re really losing it' when she feels the air _cushioning_ her and his hand clutches her arm and he pulls her upright.

"Steady now there," and the voice is different too. Smoother, lower and she must be really drunk too because she can swear she heard it before.

And… he's not letting go. Just smiles down at her, small quirk of lips and that's familiar too and jesus, is he _hitting_ on her?

The laugh bubbles up before she can stop it. She sounds slightly hysterical.

His hand is warm in her arm and she must be going crazy. It's the only explanation. Because she doesn't shake herself away. Her eyes travel up the exposed skin (pale, so pale, not golden, not Clark) and the stretch of fabric over muscles (more slender, still a boy), up to his face and he looks just like… (but not quite) like he likes what he sees, different, smoky silver eyes and there, spark, glint, naked lust and she knows this look, she _knows_ it, she's seen it before and not on Clark, not on Clark, not _Clark_ but god, _almost_ and then… then his hand travels to the small of her back and pulls her close, closer and then she doesn't care, she probably lost her mind and if she hasn't, then maybe the problem is that she's not that good a person after all but there's only so many times you can be the one that understands and forgives and doesn't demand, only so many times you can be passed up and rejected, only so many times you can not take what you want and come to think of it? She was not ever very good at that either.

So she's the one that reaches for his face and angles it downward. His mouth is thinner but so red, oh, she remembers that color, cherry lips all but tasted once, ripe and she takes. He opens up for her, hot and eager, adolescent hunger, and he tastes sweet and young and it aches, for a moment, that she's old enough now to taste youth. But just for a moment.

His leg wedges between hers and she feels the drum of bass through her body. Pulse guiding her, guiding them both and if she'd stop to think she'd probably be horrified at herself so it's a good thing that physical sensation crowds her brain, it's a good thing that the light and sound cascade through her senses and his hands hold her in place, up over her ribs and down the curve of her ass and she moves in time with the music, presses herself against him, swell of her breasts against his chest, hitches up against his hips, _grunts_ , moves in time with him.

She breaks them apart when the dampness over her skin and her own ragged breathing start clamoring for fresh air. Pulls away slightly, hands still cupping his face and says, "Let's go outside," voice rough and his eyes widen a bit, black eating up all the color and she still has the presence of mind to wonder, amused, if that can possibly mean what she thinks it means before that thought triggers another wave of heat, all the things she didn't get to have, and she disentangles herself, hastily, clumsily, " _now_."

He doesn't have to be told twice.

In the street, back alley between buildings, her back hits the wall. It should hurt but her senses are dulled. She feels like she's moving through cotton, softness and warmth a sharp contrast to the chilly air and her drink must have been spiked. She hopes she remembers this in the morning.

He's right here now though, real and solid and the more urgent matter of not crying out the wrong name is more pressing. Because…

… this is not Clark but he has the same expression of awe he had when she gave him his first kiss and the same hurt eyes of when he came to her saying that he and Lex were now enemies and she realizes…

… she wants…

to take that pain away and love him for who he is and not for his shared chromosomes. Even if it's just for this night. For this moment.

Love him for who he is. Love him for who _she_ is.

And she remembers herself.

Among fumbled zippers and underwear pushed clumsily aside, her kisses turn tender. When he slides inside her, she throws her head back and looks at the sky.

Above her the night is endless and pure.

  


* * *

_We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars._  
Oscar Wilde


End file.
